Friday, August 22, 2025

When It Happens

By Essie Newton  

-

She didn’t expect me to come. 

Before, I wouldn’t have expected me to come either, but here we are. 

I put my arm around her and hold her close, as the sirens fade away into the background. 

For a moment, everything seems silent. 

**** 

It’s weird when complete strangers are doing the exact same thing, everywhere, at the same time. 

I was at a coffee shop, but that’s not important. 

What’s important is how still everything and everyone was. 

CLAPT-T-T-T-t-t-t 

The mug the barista was holding shatters into a million pieces and dances across the floor. 

No one looks away from the screens. 

There are two reactions to a man in a suit on TV: boredom and fear. It is fear this time. 

Somehow, I am the first to get out of the trance. I pack up my laptop and leave my coffee cup behind. I can’t have anything slowing me down. 

I walk fast, but not too fast. 

You can’t walk too fast, or else they will be able to tell. 

I know I should’ve gotten out before this happened. 

But I didn’t think it would, and if it did, I didn’t think I had anyone left to care about. 

You really need to take better care of yourself. I can’t always be there to remind you to not forget about yourself. 

She told me that two weeks before she left.

She was right. 

I never understood why she didn’t leave. In the club where we met, it was clear why everyone else stayed. 

But she was different. She hadn’t given up, she had people she cared about. She had a chance to leave. 

I can’t keep thinking about her, I just have to keep walking back to my apartment. 

**** 

I got there somehow. I think everyone was still in shock, and I just barely made it in the window of time needed for everyone to prepare. 

I live in a basement unit, which normally is crap, but now I’m thanking God I took it. 

I put furniture in front of the door. I had maybe a couple days’ worth of food. I should have stockpiled. 

Little Pig paws at me for a treat. 

Should I let him go, or should I 

No. I don’t need to. But I do need him right now. I get him a treat and sit down. Piggy curls on my lap and purrs. 

He can tell I’m worried, which I’m surprised I am. 

I knew this would happen one day, I just thought I would accept it. 

Is this how they felt? When they saw them marching down the street? When the tanks crossed the border? When the explosions next door echoed in their ears? 

I remember the results. Everyone online wanted to watch the world burn. When the winner came into power, not even a single week had passed before some people began to regret their choices. 

But not all of them. 

I flip through various news channels, while scrolling through my phone. Every half second brings a new horror story to my eyes. There is even some AI-generated crap thrown in there. 

But the situation doesn’t need to be made up, it is happening. It is happening again.

I don’t get why people are surprised it’s happening again. 

History is just powerful people having weak people destroy weaker people. It’s how the world works. 

I’m not really that surprised you used to do all of that. 

That’s what she said to me when I told her about how I used to be very involved politically. Going to protests, donating as much as I could, trying to be kind and understanding to everyone I met. 

You’re an amazing person to be with. You have this great and gentle heart. That’s who I fell in love with. 

For a moment, it felt like I could be that person again. I wanted to be that person again to impress her, to live up to her. 

Then that man came into her store. He knew what she was. 

He got away with it, he knew he would. 

I wanted to kill him. 

Then the election happened. We both tried to hold onto each other. But it’s hard to do that when you’re trapped inside of a hurricane. 

A couple years passed, and pretty much every face on the street was either white, rich, or both. 

How did that happen? Enough people believed in god. 

Not a made up, ancient god. A real one. A human god. 

**** 

I scroll through social media. Specifically, the social media that isn’t bootlicking. Every post is a horrible ending and every comment is a call to action. Basically, what is happening on social media right now has happened before in the last couple of years. 

So, nothing is going to happen in real life. Great. 

M-M-MEOW 

Pig leapt off of the fridge. He purrs at me and then lies like a shrimp on a paper towel.

Weirdo. 

I look back down at my phone and see her face. She is at a protest, in front of a live-streaming camera. 

Shots come ringing out of my phone. The live-streamer ducks. I stand up instinctively. 

Is she okay? She has to be okay! 

I text her. 

Nothing. 

I call her. 

Nothing. 

I text, I call, I text, I call, I text, I call… 

Nothing, absolutely nothing. 

**** 

A couple days went by, and I finally let Piggy out. 

“I’m out of food,” I let him know. You’re better off without me. 

He goes off, no doubt thinking he’ll come back with a mouse for me to choke down. He was always a good friend to me. 

I sit down with a drink and a bottle of pills. I don’t know if they’ll be enough, but maybe if I wish hard enough, they’ll work anyway. 

I turn off everything and just sit there. 

Thinking about life, thinking about her, thinking about me. 

I wish I was out there. I wish I would go down fighting. But I’ve given up. Well, I gave up a long time ago, so it’s more like I decided to keep giving up.

Ding-g-g-g-g-g 

I reach for my phone. I’m not getting up to grab it. 

“Can u come over?” 

It’s her. 

“I thought u were ded?????? U were shot??????” 

“I was. But I got out of there. Can u head over to my place, I need u rn” “Omw” 

I’m about to walk out the door, when I remember the hellscape outside. I put on some traditionally-gendered clothes and grab a lamp. Just have to get there somehow. **** 

It’s as bad as I thought. Though I didn’t expect it to stink so much. 

I guess that’s what happens when you forget to clean up your dead bodies as you go. 

I stick to the shadows and dark alleyways. No point in walking right down the street, if I actually want to get somewhere. 

CH-CH-CH-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch 

Glass shards fly all over the streets. 

“Got another one, boys!” 

A group of white men in white clothing start beating up a woman. 

Real creative costumes, guys. Maybe add some lightning bolts next time? 

I shake my head. Why does dark comedy have to be my trauma response, because it’s a really awful response to when stuff like this is happening. 

The men are so loud, they don’t notice me slipping by them.

The TVs in the stores and public spaces are all playing the video. 

His stupid face keeps going on and on about enemies and protecting the country and being proud and being the good guys, standard stuff really. 

But the important thing is said in a moment. 

“All hate crimes are now federal, and all federal hate crimes will be pardoned by me.” 

The courts are too slow to stop the effects, and this country has too many guns. 

I don’t know why I left my gun at my apartment. 

I guess I just knew I wasn’t going back. Maybe someone else could use it. **** 

It’s dark when I get to her neighborhood. The cops are out now, enforcing the new curfew the governor put on the state. 

Who knows what the governor is trying to accomplish with the curfew. F-F-F-F-F, TT-TT-TT-TT, BANG BANG BANG 

Fire, gunshots, and firecrackers rush onto the street. The white wolves are chasing down their bloodied prey. 

Young, old, female, male. It doesn’t matter. If it has a pulse and is not one of them, the wolves feast. 

W-W-WA-WA-WA-WA-WA-WA 

The sirens turn on as the ending of George Orwell’s Animal Farm comes to life. 

My ears can barely hear as I rush to her building. I quickly jump in and close the door. A shotgun is pointed at my head. 

“You one of them?” 

Red hat. 

“Patriot, my friend. God bless us all.” 

The man in the red hat laughs, “Doubt that lamp’s gonna do much. Here, use this instead.”

I smile and take the pistol from him. I exchange a hunting prayer with him, and then he goes past me and into the bloody chaos of the street. 

I then run up the stairs as fast as I can. 

**** 

I reach her door and knock. 

Tht-tht-tht 

“Hey, it’s me, Mulder,” I reference our favorite show. 

The door opens slowly, “No one followed you?” 

“No,” I walk in, as she closes the door behind me. “Are you okay?” 

My fears prove to be somewhat true. She’s alive, but the bloody pool on her shirt answers my question. 

“The bullet went through completely… I think,” She lets me lift up her shirt to see the damage. 

“Yeah, it did,” I place the bandage back over the wound. “I ran into your neighbor downstairs. He seems happy for once.” 

She laughs and then winces. 

It was the kind of laugh I had heard from her before… Before all of this. 

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” She tells me. “But that’ll probably change soon. They’re more organized now and are going through every building, trying to find every last one of us.” 

I don’t have anything witty to say in response, so I just let the silence speak for me. 

After a few moments, I finally say something, “Is there a place you can go?” “Yeah,” She nods. “Will you come with me?” 

She wants me to come? I… 

I shake my head, “I don’t deserve to be saved by anyone. I was only out on the streets to get to you. And I don’t have a gunshot wound to match with you, so…”

“Yes, you do,” She grabs my hand. “We both do. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” 

I flashback to when she broke up with me. 

You really need to take better care of yourself. I can’t always be there to remind you to not forget about yourself. 

She wasn’t talking about losing who I was, or giving up. She was talking about how I was worth saving, just as much as anyone who was brave enough to fight back. 

“I… I think I understand now,” I try to smile. “But I’ve done everything I can do. I made sure you’re safe.” 

“Then if you won’t go, then I won’t go, either.” 

“But- You have so much to live for! You’re going to fight… you always do!” “I fight for you,” She smiles at me. 

It takes a few minutes for my mind to think of anything else but those words. When I’m finally able to snap out of my trance, I have an idea. 

“Do you wanna livestream?” 

“Why?” 

“There’s a lot of stuff online, awful stuff. I want to give them something to fight for.” 

“Then let’s do it,” She grabs my hand. 

I smile and get on a non-bootlicking social media app. I hit the livestream button. 

She speaks first, “Hey, everyone. There’s a lot going on outside, but we’re here, and we’re gonna stay here.” 

I go next, “Probably not for very long, if your neighbor figures out we’re here.” She laughs, “Yeah, but at least he’s happy now.” 

I laugh with her. 

“I’ve been out on the streets, fighting back. I got hit with a bullet. It hurts like hell,” She continues. “But I’m not done fighting. We’re gonna livestream the rest of our lives, and I’m okay with that.” 

“Me, too,” I squeeze her hand. “We met before this all started. Then after a couple years of this shitshow, we broke up.” 

“But you came for me,” She looks at me. “I didn’t think you would, but you did.”

She didn’t expect me to come. 

Before, I wouldn’t have expected me to come either, but here we are. 

I put my arm around her and hold her close, as the sirens fade away into the background. 

For a moment, everything seems silent-

 

About the Author


Essie Newton (they/them) is in their second and final year at ICC. They currently live in Peoria, Illinois, and plan on attending EIU to get their bachelor’s degree. Essie prefers to write fiction creatively but will delve into their own experiences for both fictional and nonfictional pieces. Other than writing, Essie enjoys playing video games and listening to music.

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